


Hands Are Shaking Cold, Your Hands Are Mine To Hold (Speak To Me)

by IWriteSinsNotStraightLines



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, Ghosts, M/M, Magic Stiles Stilinski, Physical hurt/comfort, Spark Stiles Stilinski, Stiles Has A Spirit Guide and It's A Fox Because I Said So, There Is Near Death But No Actual Death, injuries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-17
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-25 15:20:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30091110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IWriteSinsNotStraightLines/pseuds/IWriteSinsNotStraightLines
Summary: “Stiles?” Derek shouted, breaking a hunter’s arm and shoving them to the ground. “What the hell are you doing?”He ignored him, swallowing, and blew out a careful breath as he turned the blade towards himself and shoved it through his stomach, piercing the skin and sending it in until it hit the hilt.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 17
Kudos: 161





	Hands Are Shaking Cold, Your Hands Are Mine To Hold (Speak To Me)

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, y'all! I hope you all are doing good and staying healthy. 
> 
> The title comes from "Move Along" by All-American Rejects. 
> 
> Enjoy!

They weren’t winning. 

Stiles cursed, barely dodging the slash of a blade and shoving the hunter responsible away from him, energy crackling out of his palm and into her skin, driving her away with a yelp. She passed out, eyes rolling into the back of her head. 

He took a few steps backwards, desperation and fear clawing at his throat. 

They weren’t _winning_. 

They were outnumbered, outgunned, surrounded on all sides. 

Trapped. 

He scanned the battlefield, his dread rising and transforming into panic. 

Scott and Isaac had been forced back-to-back, growling and reaching out to slash at the hunters surrounding them with their claws, but their movements were slowing, growing more and more lethargic as the silver and wolfsbane combatted their healing and the blood loss began to get the better of them. 

Lydia was standing over an injured Peter, who was holding a hand clamped over his stomach even as black blood dripped out from under his grip, her mouth open in a scream and her hands out to direct it. The ground shook with her wail, but he could feel it diminishing, getting weaker. 

Liam was unconscious, the side of his head a gorey mess of tissue and exposed bone. Kira stood over his protectively, her eyes glowing a fiery orange and her sword slicing at anyone who came to close. 

Derek and Malia were probably faring the best, only minor wounds on them that he could see, snarling and snapping and working together to fight off a group of the hunters, their blue eyes matching in both hue and ferocity. 

Ice crept into his blood, into his lungs, into his bones as a realization hit him like a punch to the gut. 

They weren’t going to make it, not like this. 

He lashed out with a whip of flame, sending the hunters near Lydia scattering as best as he could do while he scrambled for another plan. 

_There’s gotta be something, there has to be_ something, _come on, Stiles,_ think. 

He met Peter’s eyes, and something sent him itching, a half-formed idea making its way into existence. 

He’d really only looked at the spell once, and had no idea whether or not he’d be able to successfully utilize it. But he was desperate and stupid enough to try. 

He ducked as another hunter threw a punch, coming up on his other side and giving him a big enough shock to knock him unconscious for his trouble. He patted him down, sliding a knife from the sheath at his hip. 

“Stiles?” Derek shouted, breaking a hunter’s arm and shoving them to the ground. “What the hell are you doing?” 

Stiles ignored him, swallowing, and blew out a careful breath as he turned the blade towards himself and shoved it through his stomach, piercing the skin and sending it in until it hit the hilt. 

The pain wasn’t like anything he’d ever felt-- hot and cold and sharp and dull and something desperate and animal that set his teeth on edge. 

“ _Stiles_!” he heard someone, probably Derek or Scott, howl as he fell, toppling towards the ground as his legs gave out on him. 

He choked out the incantation somewhere along the way, calling his magic to the surface, forcing it to bend to his will. 

He closed his eyes, darkness encroaching on the edge of his vision. 

When he opened them again, he was no longer in the preserve, suffering as his pack fought around him. 

He was still in a clearing of some kind, trees surrounding the open space like a barrier, the grass soft and green under his feet. The wind blew past him, smelling like something soft and wild. 

There was a stump of what must’ve been a great tree in the middle of the meadow- reminding Stiles uncomfortably of the Nemeton and what it had done to his life- and a black fox sat atop it. It had its paws tucked neatly under its tail, and eyed Stiles with curiosity. 

“ _I wasn’t expecting to see you here nearly so soon, Mieczysław._ ” 

He blinked-- the fox hadn’t appeared to speak at all, but he could hear it, its voice resonant and even-toned in his head. “Right. I’m not actually dead right now, am I? That’s not how the spell is supposed to work.” 

The fox tilted its head, “ _No. Not quite yet. Soon though, if you continue to block your magic from healing you_.” 

“Right, okay,” he said, licking at his lips. “You’re a spirit guide, right? That’s who the spell said you have to connect with to... to do what I’m trying to do. And I figured, y’know, to talk to a spirit, you have to be- be a spirit, or at least close.” 

“ _Clever_ ,” it flicked its ear, sounding approving. “ _I am what you consider a spirit guide. I do my best to watch over you, making certain that you end up where you should. Which is why I need to warn you-- a spell without this isn’t without risk. Or consequence._ ” 

He swallowed, barely holding back a shudder. He didn’t have the best experiences with magic-related consequences. “I know,” he said. “But my pack needs me.” 

The fox studied him, before rising to its paws. “ _Come then. We must do this quickly if we are to aid your friends._ ” 

Stiles approached it, tentative. It was bigger up close, as tall as he was with the added height from the tree stump. 

Its eyes began to glow, the irises burning a metallic silver that reminded him of steel and moonlight. 

It leaned forward, touching their foreheads together, and whispered a “ _Good luck, kit, I hope this works as it should_ ” before pain- endless and all-consuming _pain_ \- lanced through him, and the humming of the forest was drowned out by his scream. 

When he came to, he was back in the preserve, the fight still waging around him. The hunters were still fighting with the pack, Derek was still staring at him in horror, which made him think that he hadn’t really been gone for that long. 

He groaned, and pulled the knife out of his gut, cringing at the sticky pull before it gave. He dropped it to the ground, and felt the skin begin to knit close as his Spark healed him. 

He focused on the humming inside of his chest, his magic, his everything, and _tugged_ , forcing his intention into it, pleading to the universe.

_Please work_. 

A crackle, like static or the feeling of the air before a storm, descended into the clearing, and then he could _see them_. 

Boyd and Erica were full-shifted, something he knew they hadn’t been able to do when they had been alive, but easily distinguishable in the energies radiating from their shimmering, glowing pelts. They were translucent, made of white light and pure magic. 

Laura and Talia Hale joined them, lips pulled up to bare sharp white fangs at the hunters, vicious snarls rising from their throats. 

The familiar sound of an arrow knocking hit him from his left, and when he turned, a ghostly outline of Allison shot him a dimpled grin and aimed her weapon at the hunters surrounding Scott and Isaac. 

She fired, and all hell broke loose. 

Erica roared as she collided with two of the hunters advancing towards Kira and Liam, her teeth tearing through their flesh even as their weapons did nothing but pass through her like fog. Laura and Talia fought like one great beast, eyes flashing red in tandem as they joined Derek and Malia, dragging hunters towards them and ending the fight with teeth and claws. 

Boyd stood with Lydia, barreling over hunters as they attempted to get closer to her and Peter, snapping his jaw and breaking bones under his weight. 

Allison darted in and out of the fray, catching Stiles’ eye every now and again as she traded her bow for daggers and went to work, slashing out at limbs and torso, leaving the hunters bleeding and frantic. 

Stiles grinned, delirious that it all had actually worked, and followed them, calling wind into his hands and using it to push the adversaries back from his injured packmates, adrenaline coursing through him and helping to drive him forward. 

The battle didn’t last long, the more intelligent hunters realizing quickly that this wasn’t a fight they could win and running while they still could, and the less so leaving the preserve in pieces, if at all. 

As it died down, the glittering shapes of their allies settled with them. Talia shifted back into human form and pulled Derek close, letting him bury his face in her shoulder she pulled him close. Laura- also now human- kneeled next to Peter, and took his hand, a slight smile on her face. 

Allison hugged both Scott and Lydia close, her hands clenched in the fabric of their shirts. Boyd and Erica remained as wolves, but trotted over to Isaac, sitting near him, their tongues lolling out of their mouths as the tears welled up in his eyes and traveled down his face. 

Stiles could feel the moment he couldn’t tether them anymore, a sinking ache in his stomach as they turned to him-- Talia, with a motherly smile; Laura, with something like respect on her face; Boyd, with a sort of fond exasperation; Erica, looking affectionate; Allison, who actually approached him and pulled him into her arms. He could feel her becoming less and less tangible, her grip on him weakening as she faded, until they were all gone, back to wherever it is that he pulled them from. 

There was a still, quiet moment where the pack had time to look at him- some with confusion, some with tear-tracks on their faces- before his knees buckled and fell out from under him. He hit the ground with a dull thud, a sucking, draining exhaustion clawing at his chest-- the aftermath of whatever magic he just performed. 

Someone settled beside him, cradled his face in their hands, but he blacked out, his vision fading to shadows as he lost consciousness. 

***

He didn’t see the fox this time, just peeled his eyes open after a long moment of blackness. His body was sore. His head felt like it’d been filled with cotton, a static sort of rushing sound filling his ears. His mouth was dry and tasted awful. 

He groaned as the light from the window hit his eyes and made the aching in his temples spike, shutting his eyes against the glare. 

The sound of stomping feet coming up the stairs and the door opening was pretty predictable, so he opened his eyes again. 

“You’re a fucking _psychopath_ ,” Derek informed him, reaching up to cradle his jaw with a broad palm and drain the agony from his body. His brows were furrowed, and he had dark circles under his eyes, his mouth drawn into a tight, thin line. 

“M’okay,” he told him, attempting to sit up. Derek tried to push his back down with a hand on his shoulder, but rolled his eyes and gave in when Stiles instead used it as a means to pull himself into sitting. 

He helped him up, and made sure he didn’t pass out while sliding the pillow he’d been laying on up and in between his back and the wall. 

“How long was I out?” he asked. Derek took a bottle of water from the bedside table and opened it, tipping it to his lips and letting him drink in long, slow pulls. 

“Three days,” he told him. 

Stiles winced, because yeah, that was a long time. It definitely explained why Derek looked so tired. 

“What you did…” Derek shook his head, looking mystified. “I didn’t even know it was possible.” 

He shrugged, “Neither did I, not really. I remembered seeing the spell somewhere- it was a kind of modification of what Peter did to come back- and I hoped it would work.” 

“You stabbed yourself and bet your life on a _maybe_?” 

He made a face at his tone, cringing, “Yes, and please don’t kill me because I love you?” 

Derek grumbled under his breath as he rose from the chair he’d positioned by the bed, capped the water bottle and began stripping out of his shirt and jeans, “I won’t have to if you keep risking your life on fucking thousand-year-old spells that _may or may not_ still work.” 

“It was one time,” Stiles whined. He got a glare for that as Derek slid in next to him, snuggling up at his side. “Der?” 

“I haven’t slept in three days, and you probably need more rest. Shut up, Stiles.” 

He snorted, and shimmied back down so he was laying beside him, flopping out an arm until Derek got the message and burrowed into him, warm and close and very much alive. 

  
Stiles knew they would have to talk to _someone_ about it later, because he’s fairly sure that the magic he utilized shouldn’t actually exist, and he dimly wondered what else he could do with it, but for now, he could close his eyes, soak up of the feeling of Derek’s weight beside him, and drift back off to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> What'd you guys think? Feedback is always appreciated! 
> 
> THIS IS YOUR DAILY REMINDER TO GO DRINK SOME WATER.
> 
> Until next time!  
> \- Sins
> 
> Find my Tumblr at: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/iwritesinsnotstraightlines


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